6:00: I wake up euphoric after a wonderful night of programmed dreams. After climbing out of my deprivation pod, I challenge my synthetic heart with 350 pushups  the recommended workout for a 114-year old. Next I gaze out the window of my 153rd floor home at the other Farmpartments, all energy self-sufficient and covered with dwarf fruit that the robo-monkeys pick for us in the night. What should I do first? Get my e-democracy voting over with, or loosen up with my Sexbot? I chose the latter. As I grunt happily with my Margaret Sanger model, I hear my wife in the next room doing the same thing with her love-droid. Ha, ha. These were great 80th Anniversary presents for each other.

6:30: Now Im voting. What a chore. With direct democracy, instead of the every-two-year ballot box, I now vote on numerous issues every single day. My phone shows me myriad ways that the budget can be balanced. I check b and move on to the propositions.

7:00: My son Lexus e-calls to find out how I voted. We generally disagree on everything. I tell him I voted no on the proposal for government-supervised eugenics because I support the rights of parents to choose. But those moron Luddite kids are failing in school! he screeches. Theyre so retarded that they cant do calculus in kindergarten! Plus, theyre crippled with near-sightedness and acne! I interrupt. Youre arguing about a tiny demographic, I counter. Hardly anybody has kids anymore; only one in thirteen women (fertility rates plummeted when immortality arrived in 2041.)

7:15: My wife joins me for breakfast. Im very happy with our In-Vitro Meat Box. Last night I loaded in some saltwater crocodile cells and this morning I have nine chunky sausages to devour. Chewy. Delicious. We both drink the supplements that our wrist doctor, a medical monitoring bracelet, recommends, then we chat about our grandchildren and make plans to rendezvous for an orgy with our droids at 11:00.

7:45: I go for a relaxing 20-mile run; naked. Nobody wears clothes anymore, because our community is domed and temperature-controlled. My synthetic heart has a maximum rate of 320 beats per minute, but I set it at a 70% because I want to loiter along at 20 mph. I do the pre-history loop so I can go by the waterfall to see the new dinosaurs that arrived, recreated from fossil DNA. Theyre friendly, due to genetic therapy. I swim with the dolphins when Im done, then I hunker down for some work.

9:15: I am an Urban Aesthetician. This means I examine the city planning designs that the robots have developed. I choose my favorites, adding suggestions. Im working on OgoniLand this morning, the Hippo Family apartment-boat complex (where 100,000 people can dwell), embedded in the Niger delta. I add 9 Flamingo Towers and 3 GiraffeScrapers on the shoreline. I also add water-slides because the Niger is the warmest, cleanest river in the world ever since the oil-eating bacteria unpolluted it. I listen to music while I work and play chess, half-attentive, with an old Bobby Fischer model that I handily dispatch.

10:15: Shopping Time! I browse through my phone, looking for a Pog  a dog-pig hybrid  friendly like a canine, but you can feed it anything and its got that pink funny tail. I dont have to worry about the price because money was abolished along with copyrights and property back in 2038.

10:30: Laugh Time. I watch a podcast of the recent rude jokes. Theres a character sketch about Luddite kids thats horribly cruel, but I cant help laughing hysterically. My lymphatic system is pummeled with chortles.

10:45: My wife arrives early because she wants to have a conversation before the orgy. Mental foreplay, she explains. She talks about her job. Shes an Asteroid Mining Manager harvesting platinum and other precious metals. This bores me, but I dont want to ruin my chances for some bi-guy fun with her sexbot. So I just smile concernedly and ask occasional questions. Sure enough, she shuts up at 10:59. We pop our horny-pills and have nasty fun with our droids.

11:30: Meditation Time. This is immensely harder than laughing, but I need it severely. Even though Ill live forever, and I never have to do mindless labor, theres still the angst-ridden questions: Why am I here? What is meaningful? I have eternity to figure this out, but Id be happier if I solved it today. Should I join that mission to Titan? Should I worry about robot insurrection? Finally, I decide that I need to build my own city. Ill ask for a nanobot team but should it be underwater? Or in outer space? I drift off in my imagination, knowing that whatever I create there, will eventually be realized in my hedonist-futurist world.